It Was a Dark and Stormy Night
by staceleo
Summary: A writer's conference on Halloween? What could possibly go wrong? Everything.


**AN: I like to have a Halloween story ready for this creepy time of year. This one seems to be spiraling into something bigger than the one-shot I planned. Oops.**

 **Enjoy.**

Chapter One

 _This job was the worst._

 _Jane carried the box of beer down the creaky stairs trying not to fall. The light was dim and it was hard to see where to place her feet. She originally wanted to go through the door that led right into the basement, but it was padlocked. It made the normally cranky Jane, positively irate._

 _When she finally made it down, Jane looked at the tools that the mortician used on the tables before her. She shook her head in disgust, as she placed the box next to some rusty scalpels. "This is the dumbest idea for a conference. They could have cleaned this place up first. Assholes."_

 _It was completely unhygienic and thoughtless in her opinion. She knew Aro was useless, but Cullen Publishing might be even worse when it came to planning an event._

 _She sighed and brushed a lock of her blonde hair out of her eyes. She had been toiling away as Aro Volturi's assistant for three years . He would never make her an editor. Aro thought she was too good at fetching his dry-cleaning and making him lattes. It was a waste of her talent. She was a Sarah Lawrence girl after all. Her parents had paid too much tuition for her to be a secretary. Jane knew she would have to quit._

 _There was the sound of footsteps behind her. Jane didn't turn around as she addressed the person behind her, "About time you showed up. Just put the wine—"_

 _The ax hit her neck with a crunch._

 _Jane's head went flying._

XXXXXX

It was a dark and stormy night.

Literally, it was dark and most definitely stormy. Not a night for me to be dragging luggage in the pouring rain to watch fellow authors go between fawning or trying to one up one another. The front porch of the old house was lit by smiling jack-o-lanterns that would perhaps make small children dressed as fairies and pirates comfortable enough to go beg for treats. Until the old witch invited them in to eat them.

God, I hate fucking Halloween.

The best idea was to start my truck and head home. A two hour drive back to the city would be a pain, but better than trying to be friendly at this writer's conference. I had comic panels to finish before deadline and a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge. My publisher is going to pay for making me suffer through this thing. I see a contract renegotiation in Aro's future.

I pulled my duffle bag off the passenger seat and headed out into the raindrops. Running as fast as I could to the porch, I slipped in the mud and headed face first toward the ground. At the last moment, I was caught and pulled up into a pair of strong arms.

"Easy does it there, little lady." I looked up to see a handsome face looking down at me. He was soaking wet, but I knew exactly who it was. Edward Cullen, the newest king of horror.

"Thanks." I pulled away quickly. "We better get in there before we're completely soaked."

He grabbed my hand and started pulling me to the house. "Don't want you falling again."

"I was fine," I informed as we went up the stairs. At the front door, Aro stood and bowed to me with a flourish, before handing towels to us. "The amazing and talented Isabella Swan! Have you made some hilarious adventures for me?"

"I would have the next book finished if I wasn't pulled away from working on it." We followed him into the foyer whose wallpaper was faded and peeling. The oriental rug under our feet was worn. I looked at Aro dressed up like Dracula. His black hair was slicked back and he wore a velvet cape. "Seriously? You're in you sixties. Trick-or-treating is past you."

"Isabella, darling, this is All Hallows Eve! We all return to a child-like state on this night." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder for a second before grimacing. He reeked of expensive cologne. I tried not to gag on it. "Throw those wet raincoats in the corner and please tell me you have something saucy to wear! Sultry nurse, perhaps?"

"Dude, cut it out." I elbowed him in the side. "If you weren't gay, I would sue your ass."

He giggled his insane laugh. "That's why you're my favorite."

"Wait . . . This is the infamous I.M. Swan?" Edward Cullen asked. "You're the creator of the _Journeys of Sally_? She's one of the most sarcastic heroines ever written. I thought you'd be some goth chick who wore all black. That comic is twisted.""

"I'm even more snarky than she is," I said with a shrug. "I just have no fear of pink or florals. I'm a superhero."

Edward Cullen looked at me with a grin. "It's one of my favorites, Mrs—"

"Miss. You can call me Bella," I corrected him, trying not to get flustered. The thing about Edward Cullen was not only was he good looking, but he was also had a hint of danger to him. It was in the glint of his eye or when he smirked at you. This guy wrote tales of fear with an extra dose of gore. You have something twisted deep inside to write that kind of crazy.

His books gave me nightmares and it was pissing me off that I found him attractive.

"Stop flirting, children. We have networking to do, Isabella." Aro took my arm and led me into the main living room that was filled with some writers I was familiar with and others who were completely new to me. "Stop frowning, Isabella. You'll get wrinkles. I promise a night of fun."

"You can't promise me anything," I huffed. "Who are all these people anyway? You don't represent this many writers."

"You are correct, darling. I do not represent all these scribes. However, if the merger with Cullen Publishing goes smoothly. We'll all be one happy family."

Carlisle Cullen owned a family run publishing company who the majority of those he represented were his family members. Edward was his nephew and I was certain a big dose of nepotism helped get Edward's first novel published. That thing was so disgusting that I had to stop reading it. The rumor in publishing circles was Edward was the exception in the family getting to publish whatever he wanted. He was the golden child. Every other novel was heavily influenced by what Carlisle Cullen dictated.

The fact that he was trying to join up with Volturi Books didn't make much sense to me. Cullen Publishing was a small company, but very profitable. It made me twitchy. Change never worked out for the best for me. Aro and his brothers gave me complete creative control and if these Cullen fools—

"Bella, you came!" Esme Platt pulled me into a tight hug. She was the auburn version of Martha Stewart complete with the pearls and an obsessive need for creative control. "Aro made it sound like you weren't coming."

"He promised booze, Es. I go where it flows freely." I looked around at the dusty end tables that were lit by the fire roaring in the fire place. "Where did you find this dump?"

It might have once been a grand house but the years had treated it poorly. This room was as dusty and worn as the foyer. There were actual cobwebs draping landscape paintings and faded photographs, not the fake type of sticky cotton one would find in party stores. This whole place made me want to sneeze.

"Bella, I would never have chosen a morgue for this type of event. It is completely dreadful. Events take work and not just sticking people in an abandoned death house." Esme linked her arm with mine. "It was that Alice Cullen. Her father let her plan this. She's a fashion designer and _not_ a renowned event planner like I am. It's trashy just like those bandages she's trying to pass off as skirts."

"A morgue? God, this was supposed to be a work event not a scary kiddie party. Where is the hostess anyway? I'm surprised she isn't here yet," I pointed out.

Alice Cullen was a fixture in magazines both fashion and gossip rags. I would think she would be partying away next to the booze. It made me curious about where the bar was. If they kept the gin next to the embalming fluid, I would be a very unhappy camper.

Esme smirked. "She's here. I saw her slip off with some historical fiction writer for some alone time upstairs. His hands weren't anywhere proper. What her poor father has to deal with when dealing with that girl. Carlisle Cullen is so intelligent and handsome. I think this merger will help me get to know—"

"You want to be her step-mommy, Es."

"Not funny at all, Isabella Swan. Though perhaps some of my good breeding would rub off on her." Esme's expression changed from reflective to sour as an elderly woman approached us. "I see Garrett over there. I need to . . . ahh . . . ask him a question."

She rushed away to the dark-haired man sipping a beer in the corner. The tortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose were possibly sexy, but the patches on his tweed jacket ruined it. There was an air of pretension that was not a turn-on. I should introduce him to Kate. She loves making snobby intellectual types weep and worship her.

"Miss Swan! I am such a fan!" I was pulled into an embrace by the old woman. She reeked of cough drops and cheap perfume from the drugstore. Her sweatshirt was covered in illustrations of large eyed kittens. This woman reminded me of my grandma. I could imagine the horror of her stuffing me with sugar-free cookies and making me read her _Reader Digest's_.

"Umm . . . thanks?" I tried to wiggle away, as she started petting my hair. I hated people touching me and this grandma wouldn't let me go.

"You have such a way with words and those pictures are so colorful!" She smiled at me. This rang completely untrue. This woman was better suited to knitting magazines and _Cat Fancy_. I wouldn't normally completely judge a stranger like this, but her sweater was literally covered in cats. She didn't stop talking. "I have some ideas for you though. It might help expand your readership to a broader audience than teenagers. I'm an accomplished author, you know"

Sure.

I found my escape from her spindly arms. Moving behind a coffee table for protection, I inquired, "What have you written?"

"A novel of short ramblings," she told me proudly. "Surely, you've heard of Mrs. Myra Cope?"

"Nope."

Her expression hardened. "Trust me when I tell you that it's very popular."

"Sure."

This woman made me want to get wasted. I would take anything. Gin, vodka, Budweiser, or even cooking sherry would suffice.

The woman then began to smile again. "I have a great idea to make your books even better."

"What?" Maybe if she told me, she would leave to bother someone else.

"Porn. You need to sex it up, dear," Myra, the perverted grandma, just made me nauseous.

Edward Cullen came up to us smiling a wicked smile. "Sorry for interrupting, ladies, but I promised to show Miss Swan to the bar."

Myra Cope's hands started to shake. "Mr. Cullen, I am your biggest fan!"

It seems she was everyone's biggest fan. I wondered if she was going to suggest to add more porn to his stories too.

"Thank you so very much! I always like to meet my fans," he told her smoothly.

"Can I hug you, Mr. Cullen?" She looked like she was going to launch herself onto him no matter what.

He motioned to her. "A little hug couldn't hurt."

That hug was hilarious. She was sniffing his neck and he looked close to passing out from her very special odor. When he untangled himself from her octopus embrace, he was gasping for air and I was laughing at them both.

"We should be getting that drink now, Bella.: He nodded at Myra. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

She looked at him like he was her personal sun. "Me too! I'll let you two get something to wet your whistles. Miss Swan, we'll meet up later and discuss my suggestions. Oh! That's Emmett McCarty! I should say hello. I'm a huge fan!"

As she went to accost someone else, we headed out of the room and to a door that, when Edward opened it, led to a staircase heading downstairs.

"She's a _huge_ fan of everybody," I said as we went down the dim stairs. A single light bulb hung above us swaying and lighting the way. "I'm glad she has her tentacles on someone else."

"Poor Emmett. He's too nice to get rid of her." Edward looked over his shoulder at me. "What was her suggestion for your writing? I'm sure she wanted you to add some kittens like on her shirt."

I chuckled and informed him, "I need more sexually explicit adventures in her opinion. Mrs. Cope is a kinky cat enthusiast."

Edward almost tumbled down the stairs.

"That's one way to get rid of my erection," I thought I heard him say as we continued down.

When we reached the bottom, we were in the actual room that they embalmed the unfortunate souls that found themselves getting pumped full of chemicals and painted up like clowns. There were tubs of beer and wine on the steel tables and the glass containers that once held embalming fluid were now holding liquor.

"That's vodka," he informed as a stared at one of the glass containers.

"No shit, Sherlock." I nodded to the beer. "I think I'll stick to the closed bottles. This is too weird for me."

I felt Edward's hands on my waist and he turned me around slowly. "Don't you find it sexy, Bella? The fear heightening your blood flow?"

"I was going to say stupid not scary." I placed my hands on his chest. "I always heard horror writers were into some weird stuff. You aren't disappointing me, Edward. However, I'm sober and not having a one night stand in a mortuary's basement. I don't know you at all."

Edward took my face in his hands. "I think we have a connection. Didn't you feel it?"

"I think you're cute." I shrugged. "Your books are too disgusting for my tastes."

"Let me kiss you."

"Are you researching a new novel? This is a very weird approach. I stick to using my imagination, so—"

That was when he shut me up with his mouth. It was toe curling. There was a connection there all right. I think it was me feeling horny.

"See? I knew by reading your graphic novels. You have this way of making me think. I'm your biggest fan." He leaned in for more.

"You sound like Mrs. Cope," I whispered into his mouth.

He pulled away, throwing his hands in the air. "Mood broken!"

"You're welcome. I don't want to ruin this connection you're imagining with a quickie." I looked at the beer tub. "Those are some cheap ass beers."

Edward rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Alice hid the good beer in that fridge in the corner."

The fridge held what could relax me enough to stop worrying about the odd encounter with Edward. I liked him kissing me too much.

Opening it up, I reached in without looking and instead of feeling the cold, smooth glass of a bottle, I felt clammy skin and tendrils of hair.

I glanced at what I was touching and let out a scream.

It was Jane Murphy's head.


End file.
